|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Unperceived DepthsThere is a bright and shining hope. The water shimmers and engulfs the view as glossy red metal subs plunge into the green depths. The mossy things under the waves, shrieking horrors despite the silence of the crushing darkness. Insanity lays siege to the lights. Duty calls every man to sit as the world slips away.
The surface will not miss them but they will long for the time they can leave the pressurized chambers. They feel it behind the walls. The crew know it is there even if they don’t look. If they study their screens hard enough, read every syllable of their books, dot every “i” on their formal paperwork; They still know the insanity that lurks just outside. They see it through their closed eyes. The insanity waits outside peering through the hull with their gouged sockets. The feel the men. They taste their fear and bite away at their control.
The things outside are little more than ghosts and much more. Few have hands left. What fingers were left were sacrif
The day, the nightThe day, the night, the standing light in the standing time between the day and the rhyme. No one suspects the ever living, ticking betraying stance of themselves. No one counters their own rebellions as the wage on in the soul and the sound of the hallowed ground. there aren't as many police as they think. the safety they imagine is just that because no one can save us from ourselves. Where the cattle and goats feed of the land, we consume our souls. We forsake what we hold dear because nothing else quite feels like it is worth the time to defile. there is an epidemic in my mind that reeks the whole mind and seeks to destroy the images of a boy and taint the stance of a man.
The girls with their pearls all rolling in the light shimmer in the glimmer of destruction’s light. Those that detect and collect respect that there are no boundaries for where the dollar has power.
Lies stack up and we experience truth through fictions. The only truth is true with the imagination. Relevant
Over IndulgentThere was a time for us. I haven't written about you in a while. There was a time when I wrote about you every day. I missed you. Now, I just want someone to hug. You don't hug me. You haven't hugged me in a long time.
There was a time when you hated people. You hated them for me and for my honor. You said that they disrespected me and you didn't like them for it. I was proud and happy and content with you and you alone. I was happy to have someone so devoted to me. Someone to ring my cause before I knew I had one.
I still have people that ring my cause. People that stand up for me and hate on my behalf. It is different now because they hate you. They hate you for what you did to me. For what you said. For the year of grieving that you did not deserve. They hate you and you will never be welcomed back to my cause. I vetoed your exile. I tried to leave the door open for your return. They came back with a super majority. The override came swiftly. You don't want back and they don't want
Just because it is a cycle, doesn't mean it is allThe idea of quitting is nothing new. You let the words bounce around your head and then you let them spew. In private, alone. In the alley behind your home. you drain your throat of everything in your head and hope it leave you alone. but it breaks down into the soil and gets swept back up into the drains. and washing out into the oceans where liquid has few names. Until it is hoisted up into the sky and fluffs out into clouds that methodically pass you by. The ideas went back inside you and come down as rain but you stay indoors dry and insane.
The HikerThe snow fell in sweet silence on the serien meadow. The thin trees stood inches apart from each other filling the expanse. There is blood pooling in my sock. I don't know what to do with it. The others knew first aid. They were headed nowhere, though. This is the right direction. I know it. These surroundings are completely new. I am bound to hit land soon. I can take care of my foot then.
Oh. Apparently my shoe has soaked through. There are red footprints leading up to me. Life is funny sometimes. It is kind of hard to breath. I think I will sit down, take some nice deep breaths.
that is funny. My tan seems to be gone. I guess this will just let me get tanner. The guys at the office will be impressed. The office seems like a completely different reality from this place. Everything is calm. Nothing cares for what time it is. Things happen and succeed without demanding everyone's attention. Why do I feel like everything is looking at me?
I kind of get the appeal of nature, t
Our Dead SelvesTo all of our dead selves. they lie there. damaged, dismembered, dead. Every lifeless husk in various stages of rot and or preservation. The glassed over charred one, still hanging off the chimney. I don't even remember which of the husks was me. They don't stab. It is oddly suspicious but I stopped asking questions long ago. We ran out of bullets after a few months. The early corpses are further away. Back then we were disturbed by the contradiction of our dead selves being burried by our living bodies. We use to go so far out that we lost a few bodies. Hell, we lost a lot of bodies.
We use to bury ourselves, too. Use to call ourselves "them" and "it." We use to fight about what exactly the corpses should be called. We agreed to disagree a few times but that didn't last. We would try to trek out to our graveyard in silence but we would get to talking and directing and then the shovels would be dropped as we both pulled swords. The swords lasted longer than the ammunition but those sho
Sitting Quietly in Pale WhiteSitting quietly in a pale white breakroom. You can tell a break room because it looks desperately and thoroughly used for fifteen minute increments several times a day and lacks any real distinction of style outside of borrowed furniture, lockers of questionable safety, and vending machines. It makes an obscene amount of sense that one soda company would be contracted to sell in the store but another would own the machine in the breakroom. The steadiest most desperate patrons would be employees. The illusion of choice in lieu of laziness. It is always easier and cheaper to bring refreshments but that is if planning was easy.
He sits there in the breakroom holding a red leather journal. Fountain pen floating centimeters over the page with the constant threat of leaving ink in strategic places that convey meaning to discerning onlookers. He stares at the pop machine and thinks about the illusion of choice and the its threat to free will. The clock is broken and the second hand twitches u
Heart Pounding my Brain
Today is the day. I cannot think about it, too long. Otherwise, I get sick to my stomach. I am going to ask out the obscenely cute girl, from work. Ambiguously single with at several male friends but she is proprietary single, none the less. I'm still unsure, though.
I have come up with a plan. I will get her attention.I won't bring up any other bullshit to talk about, straight to the point. I will ask if she is seeing anyone and I will request that we go out sometime. When do I take her out?
She has told me she is busy. Quite the busy girl, all the time. I am available late or early, whenever. I don't know when we both will be available. I could take her out at work. No, that would be unpleasant, embarrassing, and not at all romantic. Should I really be planing dates right now? That would look weird, right? If I go from being unaware of her relationship status to throwing times and places at her. I can only see that ending in dodge ball, I want to avoid that metaphor.
So, setting up a
The Beautiful ClownsThere is another one. Tall blond, shutter-shade sunglasses, pink novelty tee, and jeans that show me too much ass. We are trying to march down this boulevard to make a scene. Me and my gang, we aren't funny and are not here to chase tail, even if we did find it mildly attractive. Pocka-dots and an ironic sense of humor. When the clowns roll walk into where you live, you will find that you were on our turf all along.
This was a long time coming. We should have just taken what was ours. We had a girl selling on a street corner. Snow, not ass, we don't sell ass. We give stupid people stuff that keeps them stupid and there is no woman who deserves to be some banker's sweet escape. I find that women fight just as well as men, if they are treated like they can. Mother's fight better, pain tolerance and a constant angry stare.
Take Bridge, she was fourteen when we found her. Skinny as wire on a fence and high on crack. I don't give wasts of girls like that a second look but not Bridge. Even o
100mg of nature.the clouds are lost today,
like unsung lullabies
stuck in the throat of a strangled sky.
the flowers levitate today,
their tissue paper wings
pink sertraline dreams that the bees cannot sting.
the trees bob their heads today,
like tired old men
falling asleep in church, disillusioned again.
the white thistles are stuck today,
entrapped by their names.
hissing popcorn on stilts, or rupturing brains.
the sun mottles the grass today,
in psoriasis patches,
like liver spots on ivy in the window sashes.
the wind kisses sick patients today,
tucking them in,
and then flees in a rustling dress while she sings.
Kidnapped Eevee! What do you do!?You were walking through the woods minding your own business until you heard some muffled cries. You were curious about the sound and followed it. You came to an abandoned warehouse and went in and saw two figure’s. One of them was a male Gurdurr and the other was a female Eevee tied up.
You went to hide behind some crates and listened closely to what the Gurdurr said. He said something about getting excited to sell her as a sex slave, but the Eevee didn’t like the idea and cried inside of the ball-gag.
He went out of the warehouse and was there for some long minutes. You felt sad for her and you…
A: Untie the Eevee and let her free.
B: Take her as a slave.
C: Take her as a pet.
D: Submit to the Gurdurr.
E: Teach the Gurdurr a lesson.
F: Leave like nothing happened.
G: Anything else you want.
Plunder straggly timber
above frosty mists
implore the heavens
PremonitionsBehold as the sky
Cries its tears,
Shatter like glass
Against cold &
As every spite
Of thunder sounds,
Blinding with the
Shocks of lightning.
Behold the scene,
For tonight's sky
Is our future.
FallAs the leaves turn
So too do the pages of a new chapter
A blank book
Or perhaps a page with some notes on it
When the leaves fall
They are not ending
They are beginning
They are pausing for a second, a minute
Maybe you should, too
Maybe you look at the trees
Because maybe there is a little bit of hope
Left to be had in this world
Or maybe you look at the trees
Because maybe everybody comments
On how beautiful they are
And nobody comments
On how beautiful you are
But you are beautiful
And so are they
And so are we
And so is this
And maybe you have to wait
A few more seasons
Maybe today isn’t your day
But one day you will be able to
Let yourself go
AutumnReds and Golds;
there are pumpkins everywhere.
fall off the golden trees.
The smell of rain;
fills the air.
Frost covers the land,
leaving behind a crystal wonderland.
In the pumpkin fields,
getting lost in the corn maze.
for Trick or Treaters.
to the rain drops,
patter on the roof top.
While the smell,
fill the room.
It is autumn,
and soon winter will come.
Prayer of the Peaceful oneQuiet contemplation.
See with closed eyes,
But with opened mind.
Cold wind and rain,
Whisper in my ear.
Meditation of soul...
Give me stillness of heart,
Grant me calming sublimity,
And oneness with the earth.
SerenitySit below, down upon the great green rock
And watch, as the water tumbles soars down
High from the mountains above
Gaze at how it disappears, in the starry sunset
And how the trees dance, with the golden wind
And I sit, there at the edge of the river
I wonder, what it would be like to exist
There, at the top, close to heaven
Would there ever be true peace, that high up there?
In the end, I prefer to sit here
Next to the river, because, here and now
It is just so much more peaceful.
As I opened my eyes, the only thing I saw was the sky. With its azure-colored background, fluffy clouds were splashed all over, the sky looked as if it was in a good mood. Sailing through them were a flock of birds, spreading their wings as if they were a kite. The gentle winds blew the leaves of the trees, making them dance in excitement. As I looked at the dark-blue lake beneath the hill, swans were seen, peacefully floating on the waters like buoys on the seas. Alongside them were their offspring, clinging together as close as possible like a thread in a cloth.
As I turned to my right, I saw field, filled with grass and trees. The scenery was like a painting of a masterpiece that was made once in blue moon. The plains the filled with children, playing tag, not realizing that they could play something much more fun. Right beside me were my siblings, sleeping soundly, locked away in dreamland.
As I stood up, I realized that this
Snow FallThe perfect snow drifts perilously to the earth. It twirls in the wind. Twisting in the air as the heat pushes past. the wind is always pouring from among high in an effort to find balance. The only result is turbulence. Breath of desperate pleas beat flakes and trees alike as the fall continues. Landing is most dreadful. There is no control for the frozen patterns. No means of reason to attempt to succeed. Cars blaring horns blaze on the ground. It gets close and the wind meets it and bends to the curvature of the hood. Flakes are tossed on a wave of movement. Unseeing and caring. Some lose their majestic form as they lie in puddles. They land softly, always softly. A perk of design and kindness. It hovers for a moment. The tension passes as the blanket of comfort fades away. Laying in water, dirt is pulled up over the crystals. It is warm now. Strange. It dissipates as a teardrop and mixes with that which fell before. Next time, a field perhaps.
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More